


A Burden Shared

by zerosys



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Closure, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Past Sexual Assault, Past Suicidal Thoughts, Referenced sexual assult and murder of children (for a case), Sometimes Hannibal actually does his job and is a therapist, Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-26
Updated: 2014-04-28
Packaged: 2018-01-17 04:30:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1373953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zerosys/pseuds/zerosys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Who hurt you, Will?”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Will sniffed, though his eyes were dry and clear. “Which time?” he replied.</i>
</p><p>Will is having trouble focusing on his current case. Dr. Lecter is there to listen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please, please, PLEASE heed the tags. If you can think of any additional tags that should be there, let me know and I'll add them!
> 
> This fic will deal with references to and discussion of past sexual assault and rape of a child and an adult, and references to rape and murder of children in the context of a case.
> 
> Beta read by yours truly, so if you notice any typos or grammar errors, let me know and I'll fix it asap!

“Perhaps scotch, tonight,” Hannibal said after opening the door and taking one look at Will. Because truly, the other man looked to be in dire need. As Will slumped through the office towards his preferred chair, Hannibal opened the liquor cabinet and poured them both two fingers of the finely aged alcohol. After handing the other man one of the glasses, he sat in the chair opposite and quietly took Will in.

Frankly, Hannibal had never seen Will in a worse state. The fingers that loosely gripped the cut crystal showed signs of nail-biting, the tips ragged and the cuticles red and irritated. His perpetual stubble was scruffier than Hannibal had ever seen it, there were dark blue-grey shadows beneath his bloodshot eyes, and his normally curly hair was lying lank over his forehead, evidence of the anxious habit Will sometimes had of running his fingers through the fringe, tugging at the stands as though unconsciously punishing himself. In all, he made a sad picture, void of the cunning strength Hannibal knew him to possess, radiating anxiety instead.

Hannibal sipped lightly at the scotch and waited for Will to begin the conversation. He was very interested in what had the other man so worked up, but was weary of prying, sensing that if he prodded too strongly, Will would spook like a skittish horse and end tonight’s sessions before it began. However, after several minutes of watching Will do nothing but sit quietly and vaguely glance around the office, gaze never quite landing on Hannibal himself, it became clear that he would need to be the one to initiate.

“How was your week?” he gently probed. The words seemed to take a few moments to travel to Will, but they eventually broke through the quiet trance he’d been in. His eyes flicked quickly to Hannibal’s, and then down to the glass in his hands, as though noticing it for the first time. He took a large mouthful of the scotch— _too large_ , Hannibal thought with a small amount of displeasure, it was _very_ good scotch—and twisted his face at the unexpected burn.

Will cleared his throat. “Oh, you know,” he said gravelly, “same old, same old.” He flashed a small sarcastic smile. “Washed the dogs, picked up groceries, walked around in the mind of a pedophilic murderer. The usual.”

They sat together in a moment of loud silence.

The smirk crumbled from Will’s face as he placed the glass on the side table and dropped his head to his hands. He sighed as he roughly rubbed at his eyes. “God, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. It...hasn’t been a great week.”

Hannibal raised his eyebrows and set his own glass aside “Apparently not. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you quite so distraught,” he said, crossing his legs. “Tell me about the case.”

Will cleared his throat again, pushing himself out of his chair and slowly pacing around the bookshelves, apparently needing to be ambulatory for this part of the conversation. Hannibal’s eyes tracked his slow movements, taking note of the way he tapped the fingers of his left hand against his thumb, a frequent unconscious habit Hannibal had noticed on several other occasions. He doubted Will even knew he was doing it.

“The bodies of five boys have been found in West Virginia. The FBI was called in after the first two, and Jack got called in after the next one. He had me look at the last two.” Will ceased his study of a small bust of Socrates and moved on to staring at a set of antique encyclopedias, the language of which he couldn’t immediately decipher. “They were all strangulated, their bodies dumped in the woods. And they were all anally raped.” He glanced back at Hannibal before resuming his slow circuit of the room. Quietly, he added, “The oldest was fourteen. The youngest was six.”

Hannibal ran his tongue against his upper teeth; he deplored violence against children above all else. He carefully contemplated his next words. “I can see why this case has affected you so. To put yourself in the shoes of a man capable of these acts must be very emotionally draining.”

Will let out a derisive snort, mumbled, “That’s one way of putting it.” He gave another tired sigh as he made his way back to his seat, and more importantly, his half-finished scotch.

“The worst part is, there aren’t any other signs of physical violence. It would be easier if it was just some sadist looking to inflict pain on easy targets, but it’s not. He’s using these kids as dolls for his pleasure, because he thinks they’re beautiful, because they _arouse_ him. He worships them. And then he discards them when a prettier boy catches his eye.” He finished the remainder of his drink in one swallow and rested his chin in his upturned palm after setting aside the glass.

He breathed deeply and closed his eyes. “I don’t think I’ve slept more than eight hours total this week. Every time I close my eyes, I see their faces...twisted in pain, confusion, terror...I don’t know how much longer I can stay on this case. Jack’s already upset with me, says I’m focusing too much on the victims and too little on the killer. And I know he’s right, if I can’t sort myself out and get something, _anything_ on this guy, more little kids are going to get raped and murdered.” Will’s last words were barely more than a pained whisper.

Hannibal took a moment to choose his next words carefully. “Are you empathizing with these victims, Will?” he softly asked as he studied Will’s unfocused expression. “Perhaps that is the cause of your inability to focus on this case, imagining the rapist’s actions not as if carried out by you, but instead as though they were happening to you.” He watched as the other man drew slowly in on himself, as if by presenting a smaller target, Hannibal would stop this line of questioning.

Will kept his gaze firmly locked on the dark window. He opened his mouth, seemed to think better of it, and then closed it again. He crossed his arms across his chest, hands gripping elbows tightly. The tension radiating off of him was tangible.

Hannibal watched the other man’s discomfort with a sense of looming comprehension. He leaned forward in his chair and clasped his hands together. Already knowing the answer, he continued.

“Or maybe it is not that you are empathizing with them, but that you are reliving your own reality. Will, I must ask. Have you ever been sexually assaulted?”

Will’s eyes snapped to Hannibal’s face, and Hannibal was certain he heard the other man’s breathing stop for a beat or two, his expression frozen. He knew the reaction was as good as an admission, but he pushed on, wanting to hear it from Will’s own lips.

“Will, this is a safe arena in which to share and work through your issues. Nothing said in here will reach another’s ears, not even our friend Jack. Trauma such as rape can have long-lasting effects, not least of which is PTSD. If that’s the case here, it is possible that many of your current problems can be attributed to such an event.”

Will had not looked away from Hannibal’s face the entire time he’d been speaking, though he now looked more resigned than startled. Hannibal pressed on. “Believe me, Will, when I say I am only trying to help—”

“Yes, okay? Yes, it’s happened to me,” Will irritably cut in. “I’ve worked on other rape cases with the FBI, I was a first responder more than once when I was a police officer, you don’t need to lecture me of all people on the _traumatic impact_ of assault. I’ve seen it both first and secondhand,” he finished angrily.

Hannibal kept the small smile from playing on his lips. _There_ was the stubborn strength he so admired in Will, that he wanted to cultivate, to mold. He stood, taking hold of his own glass and holding out his hand for Will’s. The other man blinked once in confusion but quickly caught on, picked up the tumbler and placed it in Hannibal’s outstretched hand, their fingers lightly brushing.

He walked once again to the liquor cabinet and poured them both another finger. He had a feeling they would be here well past their scheduled time, not that he was complaining. There was a reason he made sure Will was always his last appointment of the day.

Turning to walk back to the seats, he caught Will watching his movements. He blushed lightly as Hannibal handed him back his glass.

Settling back into his chair, Hannibal returned to the conversation. “Have you ever told anyone?” He kept his face neutral as Will huffed out a humorless laugh.

“Uh, no. I wasn’t inclined to tell, and no one asked,” he said quietly.

“Not even your father?”

“ _Especially_ not my father,” he said with more vitriol than the question warranted. Seeming to pick up on the way that could be misconstrued, he rushed to explain. “It wasn’t him, he never laid a hand on me. He just wasn’t ever the ‘talk it out’ type.” He stared emptily down into his drink and pressed his lips into a thin line.

The silence sat heavily for a few moments before Hannibal broke it.

“Who hurt you, Will?”

Will sniffed, though his eyes were dry and clear. “Which time?” he replied.

Hannibal did not let his surprise show on his face—he had not considered that more than one instance of abuse had occurred. “How many times were there?” he asked, more curious than ever to hear the full story, to know what shaped the man sitting before him, what he had survived.

He watched as Will slowly rotated the glass in his hands, until he finally lifted it to his lips and took a modest sip. He swallowed.

“Three,” he said simply.

Yes, they were going to be here a while yet.

  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to everyone who read, kudos'd, commented, or bookmarked the first chapter! I've never been very confident in my writing, so knowing that even one person enjoyed something I've written means a lot. :)
> 
> Again, please be mindful of the warnings and tags. This chapter in particular contains graphic descriptions of past sexual abuse of a minor.

Will had fallen into another introspective silence, mind turned inwards as he remembered events he had spent years forgetting, or so Hannibal assumed. Not wanting Will to feel pressured into speaking, he left his chair to stand by the window, pushing aside the light curtain and watching the sparse late evening traffic pass by. He could hear Will shifting in his seat, scratching at his thick stubble, the sound like sandpaper over rough wood.

“My dad and I…we didn’t really ever stay in one place for very long,” Will said haltingly. “Moved about once a year, maybe every other year if I was lucky. So each time we settled into a new place, I had to completely start over socially. I’m not exactly great at making friends even under the best of circumstances, so it was…hard.”

Hannibal turned from the window to study the other man’s hunched form, though he still kept his distance. He had already gleaned much of this information from their prior conversations, Will’s references to the transient nature of his father’s work and the way he never spoke fondly of childhood friends. Hannibal could easily imagine a much younger version of the Will he knew, reluctant to reach out, knowing any friends he might make would be lost to him before his next birthday, but still deeply lonely.

“That must have been very difficult to go through,” he said, “children have a strong yearning for companionship. Even introverted children still have a need for one or two close friends; someone with whom to share their interests and engage in activities. Someone who will accept them in a way no one else can.”

He watched Will gently rub at his lips, lingering over the chapped skin.

“Yeah, well, you’d be surprised at what a kid can adapt to,” Will said, a note of bitterness twisting the words.

Hannibal frowned from his position out of Will’s line of sight. He knew all too well what a child could learn to live with, what hardships they could endure. As if sensing his thoughts, Will glanced quickly at Hannibal. If he noticed Hannibal’s dark expression, he didn’t comment on it.

Dragging his eyes back down to where his fingers were linked in his lap, Will continued.

“When I was seven, we were renting an apartment in a building that didn’t really have any other kids. But the family across the hall had a teenager, maybe fifteen or sixteen, I don’t know. His name was Ryan Gillette.” Will started tapping the fingers of his left hand on his knee.

“I always got home from school before Dad got back from work, so I would let myself in. A latchkey kid, I guess. It wasn’t all that unusual for me to forget my keys. Most times when it happened, I would just slip through the outer door as someone else was entering or leaving, and then wait in the hall doing homework until Dad came home. Ryan found me out there one time, offered to let me into his house so I at least wouldn’t have to sit on the floor.”

Will smiled, the expression a strange mixture of fond remembrance and pain.

“I worshiped the ground he walked on after that. I thought he was the coolest person in the world. He had an Atari, told me I could come over and play with it any time I wanted. We would read comic books together, watch cartoons, he’d help me with my homework. He felt like the older brother I never had, that I desperately wanted.”

Hannibal studied Will’s strong profile, traced the slope of his nose down to the masculine jut of his jaw. “And he abused that trust,” he said, watching as the wistful smile slowly fled Will’s lips.

Will picked up his abandoned scotch, more to have something to hold and less out of any real desire to drink. “I would go over almost every day after school, his parents both worked too, and he was an only child, so we always had the place to ourselves.” He knocked back the rest of the drink before placing the glass aside.

“It started a few weeks after my first visit. He would make me sit on his lap while we played video games. I didn’t think anything of it at first, I was just happy to play with him. It…escalated quickly. He would insist that we both take off our shirts. He started touching me while he helped me with homework, rubbing my thighs, fondling my…my genitals. I didn’t like it, it scared me, made me feel embarrassed and guilty. He always played it off, saying this was what friends did for each other, that he was just trying to make me feel good. It just got worse from there…”

Hannibal kept his expression carefully neutral as Will reached up and began gnawing on an already painfully short-looking thumbnail. It took a few minutes, but when he seemed ready to speak again, he lowered the hand back to his lap and studied the irritated skin, deliberately avoiding looking in Hannibal’s direction. 

“It made me uncomfortable, but I kept going over, didn’t tell anyone. He was the only friend I had, and I didn’t want to lose him,” he said, his voice low enough that Hannibal had to strain to hear him.

“One day, he said he would show me something cool. He locked his bedroom door and then stripped completely naked. Made me do it too, said if I didn’t, we wouldn’t be friends anymore. Well, I did, and he started jerking himself off as soon as I was undressed. Once he was hard, he made me touch him…put my mouth on him. He was fondling me the whole time, trying to get me off too, I guess, but it didn’t happen. I was terrified. I grew up in the south, sex ed was basically unheard of, especially back then. I didn’t understand what he was doing, but I knew we were touching each other's ‘swimsuit area’, and that it was bad when someone touched you there. I thought the police were going to come and arrest us,” he said with a humorless laugh as he closed his eyes.

“Well. That’s about it. He came, or at least I think he did. I don’t remember all of that day very clearly. But when it was over, he hugged me, told me I’d made him feel really good. Said that I couldn’t tell anyone, that I’d get in trouble if I did. It became a weekly thing after that, he’d lock us in his room, make me jerk him off, suck him,” Will finished in a monotone.

Hannibal spoke after a moment of silence. “How long did this abuse last?” he asked quietly.

“Six months,” Will replied without having to think, eyes still closed. “Until we moved away. I wanted it to stop, but I didn’t know how to say no to him, and I was afraid of telling my dad.” He paused, frowning slightly and deliberating over his next words. “I started, uh, wetting the bed around that time. I’ve never really connected those dots until just now. Funny how that works.”

Will reached up to rub his knuckles into his eyes, breathing shakily as he did so. His expression was stony as he tilted his head to rest against the back of the chair.

Hannibal watched his movements with some trepidation. While he wanted to know everything about his Will—what made him tick, what dark thoughts played across his eyelids as he tried in vain to sleep on long nights—he was worried about the fallout of this outpouring, of Will withdrawing from Hannibal’s metaphorical embrace, feeling as though he had shared too much of himself with a man who was not technically his therapist.

Hannibal squeezed the other man’s shoulder as he walked past Will’s seat, heading back to his own. He could feel Will’s eyes tracking his movements as he sat and crossed his legs, right ankle braced on left knee. He took a moment to unbutton his suit jacket and smooth out the wrinkles of his waistcoat, making sure he had Will’s full attention before speaking.

“Will, I want you to know that I will not force you to discuss anything you truly do not wish to. That would defeat the purpose of these talks. I am here as a resource for you to use to work through your issues, to help guide you to a better understanding of yourself. If these memories are too painful to recount, if you feel discussing them like this will do more harm than good, then we can stop here tonight.”

Will exhaled a long breath through his nose and fixed his gaze on the mezzanine above Hannibal’s head. He blinked a few times before speaking.

“You know, it’s been thirty years since the first time I was ‘abused’,” Hannibal frowned at the flippant use of air quotes, “and I’ve never told a living soul about what happened, any of it. I’ve felt the words slowly building up in my stomach, my throat, my head. Sometimes I feel like they’re written across my face, like a messed up version of the scarlet letter. I think if I can finally let them all out, I’ll have a lot more room for myself in here.” He swallowed and flicked his eyes back to Hannibal. “That is. If you’re okay with hearing them.”

A small genuine smile lit Hannibal’s face, the easy readiness of Will’s trust washing over him in a warm, heady wave. “Of course, Will. It’s always my pleasure to listen to anything you may wish to say.” Will Graham’s unique blend of neuroses coalesced into a beautiful, gilt-edged pain. He thrilled at the chance to see that pain firsthand, study it, elevate it to a shining work of art.

Will mirrored his small smile, and though it was watered down, it was the first truly positive expression he had displayed all night, no signs of self-deprecation or sarcasm shadowing the lines of his face.

Hannibal felt his own grin widen in answer. “Well, now that we have that settled. Would you like to continue?”

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many of the details of this chapter (and really, the entire fic) were inspired by [this /r/askreddit thread](http://www.reddit.com/r/AskReddit/comments/215nw5/seriousmale_sexual_assault_victims_may_we_hear/), which contains the stories of male victims of sexual assault. It was heartbreaking to read about the same patterns of abuse happening to so many people.
> 
> On a lighter note, here is a [Will Graham's smile appreciate post](http://zerosys.tumblr.com/post/80966092855/graham-unhinged-will-graham-appreciation-post). Because hot damn.


	3. Chapter 3

Will breathed in through his nose and slowly exhaled through his mouth, his face deliberately settling into a blank expression. “I was fifteen the next time,” he murmured.

Hannibal remained silent, allowing Will to sort through his thoughts at his own pace. He could visualize the process, imagined Will dusting off old shoeboxes full of Polaroids, lingering over the important ones and arranging them in order.

“Dad landed a seasonal job as a civilian contractor for the US Army,” he began. “Mostly engine repair, but also a little bit of machinist work. It was a good opportunity— _really_ good. The best gig he’d had in a while, and we were going through a rough patch. Like, ‘about to be evicted’ rough.”

He paused for a moment and looked around the dimly lit room. “Would it be alright if I walk around a little? I think better when I’m moving.”

Though Hannibal knew this to be true, he sensed Will’s ulterior motive, his need to put some distance between them. Despite his willingness to confide in Hannibal, the topic was still an intensely personal one, and Will was at his core a very private man. He needed to retain some measure of control, however trivial or fleeting.

“Of course, Will, whatever will make you most comfortable. You know you don’t need to ask.” Indeed, most of their sessions took place while Will made slow sweeps around the bookshelves and curio cabinets. Hannibal found it curious that he should feel the need to ask permission now.

Reassured, Will took to his feet and began slowly pacing, no clear location or goal apparent in his movements.

“Anyway,” he resumed, “problem was, the job required near-constant travel. He was expected to be on the road for at least 80% of the three-month deal, going from base to base. He almost turned it down when he was told about that part, it would’ve meant I’d either have to travel along with him and miss three months of school, or he’d have to leave me on my own for weeks at a time, which he flat-out refused to do.”

Will slowly walked the perimeter of the room. Hannibal admired the contrast of his pale skin against the deep red of the office’s accent wall.

“I begged him to take the job. Not only was the pay good, but it was something that could open more doors for him in the future. He was a single dad with nothing but a GED and a good work ethic, there weren’t exactly a lot of opportunities falling out of the sky for a guy like him. So after a lot of convincing, he finally agreed to ask his brother if I could stay with him for a few months. You can probably see where this is going,” Will muttered.

“I can, unfortunately,” Hannibal said with a frown.

Will leaned against the ladder leading to the upper level and crossed his arms over his chest. “They’re actually half-brothers, and Marcus is almost ten years older than my dad, so they were never really close. I had never met him before that point, and I haven’t seen him since.”

“Do your father and he share the same mother or father?”

Will furrowed his brow at the incongruous question. “Father. Marcus is another upstanding member of the Graham Clan. Why?”

Hannibal shrugged a broad shoulder. “No reason, simple curiosity. Please continue.”

Will held Hannibal’s eyes for a beat, then fixed his gaze down on the floor. He tapped his foot a few times before speaking.

“He agreed, so Dad dropped me off at his house in Gulfport with not much more than a duffel bag full of clothes, registration papers for the local high school, and a promise to call once a week.”

Hannibal pictured an adolescent Will, hair messy and face sober as he watched his father, the one constant in his life, drive away from where he stood on the porch of a virtual stranger. 

“It was alright at first. Not great, but alright. We mostly ignored each other. He did shift work at a factory, so more often than not, he was either gone or sleeping when I was around. When he was there, though...” Will trailed off, eyes unfocused. “Well, he made me uneasy, to put it mildly. From the first week, I felt like he was always watching me. I’d be leaving the bathroom after taking a shower and he’d be standing at the end of the hall. Or I’d look back at the house while doing lawnwork and he’d be looking out the window. I thought I was just being paranoid, but then he started finding excuses to be in my personal space; reaching over me to grab something out of a kitchen cabinet while I was cooking, following right behind me as I went upstairs to go to bed. I spent as much time out of the house as I could, stayed late at school, haunted the local libraries...”

He scratched the back of his head and pushed himself away from the ladder. The room fell into a delicate silence for a few minutes as he resumed his aimless exploration of the office. When he reached Hannibal’s small drafting table, he paused. “This is really nice,” he said, reverently touching the corner of one of several sheets. Hannibal rose from his chair and joined Will at the table in order to see which sketch had caught the man’s attention.

It was an approximation of a meadow he had been quite fond of as a child; approximate, as he had not seen it in decades. He could instantly see why Will had been drawn to it, the tall grass and clumps of trees created an image that was not unlike the fields that surrounded Will’s small home—the fields that Will had admitted to finding safety in on dark nights, looking back at his warmly lit house like a boat on the calm sea.

“Thank you, I’ve put quite a bit of time into it.” Hannibal watched Will’s face closely. “Would you like to keep it?” he asked, observing as Will’s face lifted in astonishment.

“I couldn’t possibly, this is something, something you’ve worked hard on, I—“

“Nonsense,” Hannibal interrupted, “I insist. I draw for the purpose of sharing beautiful things with the world. I would be honored for you to have it, knowing that it is in the care of someone who appreciates it.”

“Jesus”, Will breathed. “If you’re really sure. _Are_ you really sure?”

Hannibal smiled. “Absolutely. I’ll have it framed for you once it is finished.”

Will gifted him with a look of unreserved gratitude. “Thank you.”

Hannibal lightly placed his hand between Will’s shoulder blades. “My pleasure,” he said, gently rubbing his thumb a few times before letting go and returning to his seat.

Will stared down at the drawing for a few more moments, then rubbed a shaking hand over his tired eyes. He turned and took in Hannibal’s seated position. “Um. Anyway. Where was I?” he mumbled. 

Hannibal waited patiently, knowing the man was stalling while he got his thoughts back together. His eyes tracked Will as he made his way to one of the floor-length windows.

“My uncle. Marcus. I tried to avoid him whenever possible, but I still needed somewhere to sleep.” He crossed his arms over his chest again, an unconscious defensive gesture. Will displayed so much of himself in his body language, Hannibal mused.

“It went on that way for about a month,” he said, eyes firmly locked on the dark glass. “Until one night. I was in bed. I woke up to him getting under the covers with me. He held me down, told me to stay quiet. He, uh. He raped me,” Will said, voice nearly inaudible.

Hannibal studied Will’s stiff back, noted the way his fingers clutched tightly at his ribs. “Was it a recurring occurrence?” He asked softly.

Will jerkily nodded his head. “He wasn’t home every night, like I said, shift work. But every night that he was; yeah,” he stopped to take a shaky breath. “It happened a few times during the day, too. He once cornered me in the basement while I was doing laundry.”

“You said earlier that you've never told anyone about your assaults. Why did you not tell your father about what was happening? Surely he would have removed you from that environment if he knew.”

Will sighed and rubbed at his arms. “That’s exactly why I couldn’t tell him. If he knew, he would have left the job. His pay was contingent on the completion on the contract. If he quit, we would have literally been homeless. I was already responsible for what was happening, I couldn’t be responsible for us living on the street, too.”

Hannibal frowned at the self-blaming language. “How did your uncle’s attacks make you feel?” he asked curiously.

Will turned to lean back against the wall next to the window, arms still crossed and eyes falling closed. “I’m assuming you mean aside from the overwhelming feelings of violation and shame?” he said sarcastically. Hannibal hummed, a neutral prompt for Will to continue.

He opened his mouth, but hesitated. Haltingly, he said, “I felt...guilty. If I had just fought back more, it wouldn’t have happened. I could have yelled, kicked, bitten. But I didn’t...I just froze up and let him do it. Every single time,” Will swallowed thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “But more than that, I felt guilty because it was my own fault that I was even there. If I hadn’t have convinced my dad to take the job, I never would have been there at all. It was all my fault.”

“Will, nothing that happened to you was your fault,” Hannibal was quick to cut in. “These were the actions of a depraved adult taking advantage of a minor placed in his care. It was wrong, it should not have happened, and you deserve none of the blame.”

Will slit his eyes to look at Hannibal, his expression unconvinced.

“This is not the first time I have noticed your tendency to take blame where you deserve none,” Hannibal leaned forward, tilting his head to meet the other man’s eyes. Will was quick to blink away. “You have something of a guilt complex. You blame yourself for a great many things for which you are not responsible.”

Will resolutely kept his gaze turned away. “It’s hard to not feel guilt over it. It’s been heavy in my chest for my entire adult life.”

“And part of the healing process is acknowledging those feelings and learning how to deal with them,” Hannibal said. He let Will mull that over for a minute.

Once he had judged that the silence had stretched long enough, Hannibal resumed the discussion. “What happened to your uncle?”

Will shrugged, the gesture weighed down with exhaustion. “Nothing. When the job was over, Dad picked me up and we moved on to Missouri. I never saw Marcus again; we Grahams aren’t huge on family reunions. He’s gotta be in his seventies now, but last I heard, he was happily retired in Arizona.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Hannibal. “Many people who deserve to pay for their crimes never receive their due justice. It’s a cruel fact of life.”

Will’s expression was equal parts grin and grimace. “And that’s exactly why I do this job, why I _look_. Knowing that I can catch these people when no one else can, that I can save lives...sometimes, that’s all I have to hold onto.”

Hannibal noted the intermittent tremor wracking Will’s frame, the unhappy droop of his eyelids. His physical and emotional exhaustion were obviously taking their toll. “Will, please sit down,” he said, gesturing to the vacated chair across from him. “You look as though a strong wind could blow you over.”

Will nodded slowly and rubbed at his stubbled cheek before sinking down into the welcoming embrace of the armchair. He took a deep breath. “Two down, one to go.”

  



	4. Chapter 4

There was an imperceptible shift in Will. His eyes went glassy, his posture was stiff and still, his breathing quiet, measured. Hannibal could send that he was attempting to disassociate, trying to see events as though they had happened to someone else and he was merely an impartial observer.

When he spoke, Will’s voice was without inflection. “I was twenty-two when I got my undergrad degree. I had known for years that I wanted to be a cop, so as soon as I graduated, I applied with the New Orleans PD, passed the pre-hire tests, and was accepted to the training academy.”

He worried at a hangnail on his thumb, absently picking at it with the short fingernails of his other hand. “I enjoyed it, even excelled at it, but as you can imagine, that type of environment was prone to over-inflated egos desperate to show off their testosterone levels. I didn’t quite fit in, socially,” he said, a note of distaste coloring his flat tone.

“No, I imagine not.” Will could often be opinionated to the point of offensiveness, stubborn to a fault when he had his mind set on something, but he was not one to take part in machismo-fueled posturing. He preferred to fight with his words and wit, it was one of the qualities Hannibal found most attractive in him. “What was your relationship like with the other trainees?”

“Not outright hostile, if that’s what you’re thinking. I wasn’t exactly Mr. Popular, but no one gave me any trouble. Mostly just kept to myself unless otherwise necessary,” Will said, vacantly staring into the middle distance. “And sometimes it was. The instructors were big on fostering a sense of camaraderie within the group; after all, we would be working together, relying on each other in the future. It was entirely likely that we would need to be able to trust each other in a real life-or-death situation at some point.”

Will suddenly started to laugh, small breathy exhalations more than an actual expression of mirth. Hannibal raised an eyebrow in question.

“Sorry. I just realized what a crock of shit that whole spiel was. The reason I left the force was because I got stabbed while pursuing a suspect. I’ll admit I’m to blame for not being able to pull the trigger in time, but my partner should have been watching my back. He wasn’t. In the end, I put too much faith in some guy who didn’t deserve it. He was one of my classmates during academy training. Fat lot of good all those trust exercises and group outings did us, huh?” Will said, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Do you believe you have trust issues, Will?” asked Hannibal.

Will smirked. “Well, I don’t know, Doctor Lecter. You’re the psychiatrist. You tell me.”

Hannibal quietly contemplated the other man for a moment before speaking. “I think being subjected to a lifelong pattern of abuse and betrayal is enough to cause anyone to dole out trust sparingly.”

“So is that a yes?”

“It’s not a no.”

Will said nothing and renewed picking at the dry skin of his fingertips.

“Tell me, Will. Do you trust anyone?”

Will ceased his ministrations, but kept his gaze firmly fixed on his own hands. He hesitated before saying, “I’ve never told anyone about any of this, about what happened to me. The fact that I’m telling _you_ may or may not be significant.”

Hannibal clasped his hands and leaned forward in his seat, smiling as Will briefly met his eyes. “Then I shall endeavor to not disappoint you.”

Will answered Hannibal’s smile with a feeble one of his own before sucking in a deep breath. Hannibal watched as the other man attempted to drop back into the detached mindset he had adopted at the beginning of his narrative.

“So, um. The academy,” he said. “I mostly kept my distance during classes and practicals. But I’m not stupid, I knew I’d end up working with at least some of those people, and being a standoffish jerk wouldn’t do me any favors in the long run. So whenever the instructors and recruits would go out for drinks in the evenings, I would tag along, make an attempt. More often than not, I would just spend the evening quietly watching and listening to the conversations taking place around me.”

Hannibal thought back to his recent dinner party, the one Will had declined to attend. He had said he wouldn’t make for good company. Hannibal could imagine the man sitting silently in his chair, fiddling with a cloth napkin and nervously glancing around at the other guests seated at the table, disinclined to take part in the small talk, but too courteous to simply take his leave from the gathering. Will would have acted in much the same way during these bar outings, claiming a stool as his own and trying to look as though he belonged, all the while loathe to join in on trivial discussions regarding sports or the weather.

“Things carried on the way throughout the curriculum,” Will continued, “And then...it was Mardi Gras. It seemed to be a foregone conclusion that we would be partaking in the revelry. This was the only time I actually tried to talk my way out of it, but the group was having none of that. New Orleanians take a lot of pride in the holiday, and they couldn’t fathom why I didn’t want to get blackout drunk and throw beads at uninhibited college girls. It was easier to just give in. I figured at worst, I’d stay for an hour or two and then head home without drawing attention to myself.”

He exhaled shakily and dropped his face to his hands, elbows braced on his knees. “It was unanimously decided that we’d stay out of the French Quarter. Too many tourists. But there were still plenty of other local places we could stake out. So we met up at some bar, I have no memory of what it was called. And it actually wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. Crowded, loud, and chaotic, yes; but there were no drunk girls flashing their breasts, no frat boys puking in corners. I actually started enjoying myself a little, especially after I’d had a drink or two.”

Hannibal waited for Will to continue, but the silence stretched. He watched as the man’s bowed back rose and fell with fast breaths.

“Will?” he said softly.

“I’m sorry”, said Will, “I just—I need a sec.”

“Take as much time as you need.”

“Okay,” Will whispered.

When he next spoke some minutes later, his voice was closer to his normal volume, though thicker, hoarse. “One of the guys I was with, I knew him about as well as any of the others, just neutral familiarity with a classmate. We had been talking about our firearms training. One minute I was fine, just a pleasant buzz from the alcohol; the next, I couldn’t fucking talk or stand. I didn’t know what was going on.”

Will swallowed loudly, his dry throat clicking.

“He roofied me. Once I’d got to the point where I couldn’t keep my head up, he walked me out of the bar like he was helping a friend who’d had too much to drink. Dragged me across the street to a parking lot, unlocked his car, and laid me out in the backseat. Fucked me right there with the car door open and people passing by.”

He harshly rubbed his hands over his face. “ _God_ , I tried to stop him, I did. But I couldn’t yell, could barely groan. My limbs felt like they were weighted down, I didn’t have the strength to turn my head, let alone fight him off. I was completely powerless.”

They sat through several more moments of silence, Will collecting himself and Hannibal patiently allowing him to do so.

Finally, Will spoke. “After it, he pulled me back out of the car, dumped me in the parking lot, pants still around my ankles. I watched him as he redid his fly, locked the car, and walked back across the street to the bar, the party. It was just another part of his night.” Will leaned back in his seat and tilted his face to the ceiling, laying a hand over his closed eyes. “I think I must have passed out for a little while. When I could move again, I pulled up my pants, dragged myself to the bus stop, went home, slept, and walked into class the next day like nothing had happened.”

“And you never reported him,” Hannibal murmured, seeing the rest of the story unfold in his mind. “After all, you were both new members of the police. Making such an accusation would have necessitated a rape kit and a formal inquiry. Rumors spread quickly; the rest of your classmates would have found out, not to mention any number of senior officers with whom you would one day be working.”

Will’s lip twitched. “Got it in one,” he said. “Add to that the fact that allegations of sexual assault on males are rarely taken seriously. I had nothing to gain by reporting him but humiliation.”

Hannibal kept his expression meticulously blank. “What was his name?” he asked.

Will shook his head. “I don’t know, ‘something’ Maguire. Maybe Keith or Kyle, something with a K. I’ve tried my best not to think about him.” Will cleared his throat. “I, uh. I wasn’t in a good place after it happened.”

“How so? Aside from the obvious.”

Will moved his hand down to lay on the armrest, but kept his head back and his eyes closed. It looked for all the world like he was sleeping. “He didn’t use a condom,” his voice was controlled, emotionless. “Came in me. It took me until the next morning to even properly process it, I wasn’t exactly thinking clearly. During the previous...incident, with my uncle, I had never thought to get myself tested. I was still a kid and didn’t know how serious it could be. But this time, I was terrified, convinced I had HIV. I eventually gave in and went to a free clinic, but it can take up to six months for HIV infection to be detectable, so I had to keep going in every few weeks. I was so sure they were going to find something, but miraculously, I was fine. Completely clean.” Will opened his eyes a crack and smirked at the ceiling. “Lucky me,” he muttered.

He sighed and rested his palms on his stomach. “Even after the negative test results, things were bad. I started having my first bouts of insomnia. Lost weight, not that I had much to spare in the first place. I...” Will trailed off and studied Hannibal with heavy-lidded eyes, as if gauging the other man’s worthiness. Hannibal was careful to meet the rare, sustained eye contact, to keep his expression non-judgmental, impartial. Will was the first to look away, fixing his stare on the full Windsor knot of Hannibal’s paisley necktie. He must have been satisfied with what he had seen though, as he licked his lips before continuing.

“I was suicidal,” he said quietly. “I never actually made an attempt, but I thought about it. Every single day, for a long time. I mean, what was so damn wrong with me to make this keep happening? A lot of people get molested, abused, attacked; it’s an unfortunate fucking fact of the world we live in. But _three fucking times_. Why me? What did I do?”

Will’s breathing was becoming rapid and harsh, nearing hyperventilation. Hannibal got up from his chair and crouched in front of Will. He was deliberate in his actions, moving slowly and telegraphing his intent so as to avoid startling the other man. He placed a hand on Will’s knee, both to balance himself and as a grounding gesture for Will, to give him something solid to focus on.

“Will. You must understand that nothing that was done to you, none of it, was your fault. You did not do anything to bring it upon yourself, there is nothing intrinsically wrong with you. Some things happen for no reason. Such is the cruelty of the life.” He rubbed his thumb in small circles on Will’s knee, listening as the other man’s harsh breaths slowly smoothed into something approaching normal.

Will blinked rapidly and rubbed a shaky hand over his face. When he lowered it, he placed it lightly, hesitantly, on Hannibal’s shoulder. His eyes were dry, red-rimmed and tired.

A heavy silence hung over them for a long time, an overcast sky threatening to unleash a summer storm.

  



	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay on getting this last chapter out! Real life left me without the time or motivation to write, so things were slow going for a while there. To everyone who's been reading since the beginning, thanks for sticking with it!
> 
> PS, I swear to god, I wrote the bit about omelettes before last Friday's ep aired. Go figure. :/

  
Will shifted in his seat and cleared his throat. “So there you have it,” he said, spreading his fingers in a small _ta-da_ gesture. “The life and times of Will Graham.”

Hannibal smiled softly. “How do you feel?”

He seemed to give the question some serious thought, eyebrows furrowing and lips drawn back. “Like a wrung towel,” he finally mumbled as he rubbed at his tired eyes.

“That’s to be expected, you’ve expended a great deal of emotional energy tonight.” Hannibal gave Will’s knee a light squeeze before rising from his crouch and straightening out his suit jacket, doing up the buttons. “When does Jack need you back on the case? I presume you’ll be returning to West Virginia tomorrow?”

Will sighed and shook his head. “I’m off the hook until another body is found. We’ve done all we can with what we have, it’s unfortunately a waiting game at this point.”

“In that case,” Hannibal said, striding towards his desk, “I insist you accompany me to my home. You look as though you could use a meal that has not been microwaved, and you’re exhausted, in no state to make the drive back to Wolf Trap. You may use my guestroom. I can drive you back to your car in the morning.”

Will looked for a moment as though he would put up a token protest, face creased in a frown, but his expression quickly smoothed into candid gratitude. “Thank you, Doctor Lecter. That’s very generous.”

“As I’ve said before, Will, my home is always open to friends. And on that note, please call me Hannibal. Our appointment has concluded, and I think we’ve moved beyond titles.”

“Then thank you, Hannibal,” Will quietly said as he rose from his own seat. Hannibal smiled at him in approval.

He spared a brief glance at the clock as he set about closing his appointment book and tidying the detritus of the day. It was very nearly nine o’clock in the evening. He packed his satchel and then guided Will to the door with a hand at the small of his back.

The drive to Hannibal’s home was a quiet affair, both men choosing to forego conversation. Will was slumped down in the passenger seat, head resting against the window and eyes closed, though Hannibal knew he was not asleep. He wondered what was going on in the man’s head, if the demons of his past were hungrier than ever, or if they had been satiated, put to rest. Will had relived a great deal of trauma this evening, no doubt exacerbated by his vivid imagination. It would likely take him some time to come back to himself, hopefully stronger for the outpouring.

Will opened his eyes as they pulled into Hannibal’s garage, then trailed Hannibal like a ghost as they walked through the house and into the kitchen.

Hannibal firmly pushed Will down onto a stool before turning to the refrigerator and contemplating the options for dinner. He had planned on preparing a more intricate meal for himself, but Will was swaying where he sat, eyes half closed. Hannibal settled on Denver omelettes; not his usual fare, but fast and filling were more important than sophistication on this occasion.

Decision made, he began preparing the ingredients. He could feel Will’s eyes on him as he diced the vegetables, watching the quick, practiced motions of the knife.

“The eggs, peppers, and onions are from a local farmers market. As for the ham, I selected the cut and brined it myself. _Very_ fresh,” Hannibal said, shooting the other man an inscrutable smile.

Will grinned in answer. “I think this is the simplest thing I’ve ever seen you cook.”

“Not everything must be complicated,” Hannibal said. Will accepted this with a contemplative hum, his expression turned inwards, introspective.

The rest of the process went by quickly and quietly. Hannibal soon placed two perfectly cooked omelettes on the island in front of Will and set about pouring them both a glass of fresh orange juice. He took a seat on the stool next to the one Will was occupying.

“I’m afraid there is no interesting history or trivia in relation to this dish or the ingredients, so my customary pre-meal speech is unnecessary. As such, I will merely say, ‘dig in’.”

Will chuckled before doing just that.

Their usual conversational topics—heavy with philosophy and metaphor—were abandoned in favor of easy small talk. Hannibal inquired after Will’s dogs, his coworkers, the book he was currently reading. Will responded readily, but frequently glanced at Hannibal when he thought the other man was not looking, confusion and apprehension written clearly in his features.

They washed the dishes side-by-side when they were finished eating, Hannibal in rolled shirtsleeves and wet up to his forearms, and Will taking great care to dry every inch of the fine porcelain and flatware. They worked in a silence that was heavy with anticipation, the inhale before a great plunge.

Hannibal appropriated the dish towel from where Will had draped it over his own shoulder. “Is something wrong?” he asked as he thoroughly dried his hands.

“No,” Will said, shaking his head. “It’s just...thank you.”

“It’s my pleasure. You know I enjoy having you for dinner.”

Will shook his head more emphatically. “No, I mean. For not treating me differently. Like a victim. Broken,” he whispered, gaze firmly fixed on Hannibal’s feet.

Hannibal folded the towel into neat thirds and set it aside.

“That’s because you are still the same man as when I met you,” he said, placing a hand on Will’s shoulder. “You are still the same man who can see like no one else can, still the same man who saved Abigail’s life, still the same man who will one day catch the Chesapeake Ripper. Learning what I have tonight has not changed any of this. The only thing that _has_ changed is that I now know how much you had to survive in order to become the brilliant man you are today. You are so much stronger than you give yourself credit for, Will.”

“Hannibal,” Will said, voice thick. He took a shuddering breath and clamped a hand to his mouth, half-strangling the sob that forced its way from his throat. Hannibal pulled Will into an embrace as the tears started falling. Will was quick to bury his face in his shoulder, hands fiercely grasping at the fine material of his shirt.

He rubbed gentle circles against Will’s back as sobs wracked his frame. It occurred to Hannibal that Will had never allowed himself to cry for what had been done to him, what had been _taken_ from him. Thirty years of repressed grief, shame, and anger were pouring out of him unchecked. The dam was finally broken.

He held Will tightly to himself, mooring the man as he threatened to shake apart. It was exquisite, experiencing this tumult of raw emotions so intimately. In this moment, he knew Will better than Will knew himself.

After some time, Will’s sobs tapered out into gasps and hitching breaths as Hannibal made soft shushing noises, swaying them lightly where they stood.

When at last Will had quieted, Hannibal gently lifted his face from his shoulder and used his thumbs to wipe away the errant tears remaining on Will’s cheeks.

Will took a shuddering breath and opened his mouth to speak, but couldn’t seem to find the words for what he wanted to say. “I’m sorry about your shirt,” he settled on.

Indeed, Hannibal’s shirt was thoroughly damp with not only tears, but also more than likely a fair amount of saliva and mucus.

“I have other shirts,” he replied, taking in Will’s puffy red eyes, the moisture clinging to his lashes. “Better?”

Will nodded minutely, nuzzling the hand Hannibal placed on his jaw.

“Good.” He raked his fingers through Will’s hair a few times before placing a hand at the small of his back and leading him upstairs to the master bathroom.

Hannibal urged Will to sit on the closed toilet lid as he filled a glass with water and tapped a few aspirin into the other man’s palm—an attempt to ward off the headache that was no doubt developing. He thoroughly wet a washcloth with cool water while Will drained the glass. When he was done drinking, Hannibal raised the cold compress in an unspoken request for permission. At Will’s nod, Hannibal began delicately wiping at the dried tear tracks.

The silence in the room was sacrosanct, Will’s solemn, upturned face completing the reverent tableau. Hannibal had experienced few things more beautiful than this moment.

He rinsed out the cloth before folding it into a neat strip, tilting Will’s face back to lay it over his swollen eyelids. “Hold this in place. I’ll be back in a moment,” he said, lifting Will’s hand to rest on the washcloth.

Hannibal moved from the bathroom to his bedroom, unbuttoning his clothing as he entered the large walk-in closet. Items to be dry-cleaned were neatly set aside and all other items were tossed in their respective hampers. The routine was comfortable, familiar.

He walked back out to his large dresser and selected nightclothes for himself; a well worn henley and silk pajama pants. As he dressed, he deliberated on what to lay out for Will. He knew the other man was prone to nightsweats and preferred to sleep in only his boxers.

Before he could come to a decision, he felt large hands on his shoulders, turning him around. Will wasted no time, softly pressing his dry lips to Hannibal’s in a chaste kiss. Hannibal lightly placed his hands on Will’s hips, but refrained from taking the kiss further, simply accepting what was given. 

When Will pulled away after a few moments, his eyes were half-lidded. He licked his lips. “If I’ve read you wrong, I’m sorry. But I don’t think I have, have I?”

Hannibal answered by leaning back in, pulling Will into a deeper kiss than before. He traced the seam of the other man’s lips with his tongue, and when Will eagerly opened his mouth, he touched his tongue to Will’s, coaxing him to respond in kind.

It was better than Hannibal could have imagined, sweeter than any fruit and headier than any wine. Will responded so divinely, sighing and gasping into Hannibal’s mouth, and shivering when Hannibal ran his hands up under Will’s shirt, trailing over the bare skin of his back.

After some time, Hannibal became aware of the small tremor in Will’s hands where they were grasping at Hannibal’s shoulders, the way his breath was rasping just a bit too harshly. He pulled back to look at Will’s face and saw pleasure, yes, but also a faint hint of uncertainty.

“You are sure this is alright?” he asked.

Will scratched the back of his head. “Yeah, I’ve wanted this for a long time,” he said. “I just...I don’t know if I’m ready for more right now. Everything’s too real, too close to the surface.”

Hannibal placed a hand on Will’s jaw, forcing the man to meet his eyes. “I don’t think sex would be good idea—for either of us—tonight.” Not good for Will for obvious reasons, and Hannibal wasn’t sure he would be able to keep his own mind from the men who had touched Will, who had used him without his consent. It would certainly put a damper on the experience.

He stroked Will’s stubbled jaw with his thumb, gripping his hip with his other hand. “But I would very much like to kiss you again, if you have no objections.”

Will seemed relieved at the assurance that no more was expected of him than what he was comfortable with. The furrow in his brow smoothed out as he smiled shyly. “Okay,” he said huskily.

Hannibal kissed the corner of his mouth before putting some space between them. He gestured at the still-open drawer of the dresser. “Make yourself comfortable, feel free to borrow whatever you would like to sleep in. I’ll give you some privacy to change”, he said, turning to leave the room.

A strong hand encircled his wrist before he made it two steps. Will shot him a challenging look as he began undoing the buttons of his shirt, as if to say _look at me, I’m not afraid of you and I’m not ashamed of me_. He draped the shirt over the back of a chair and reached into the dresser to pull out one of Hannibal’s undershirts, pulling it over his head in a few jerky movements.

He closed the drawer with a decisive clunk, and then, unselfconsciously, he unfastened his belt and fly, pulling the slacks from his legs and tossing them over the same chair as his shirt.

Hannibal couldn’t stop the flare of fierce possessiveness that shot through him at the sight of Will in his thin undershirt and not much else, the vulnerable lines of his bare legs and feet on display.

He allowed himself a moment to drink in the sight, then flicked off the lights.

The darkness was not complete, some light filtered in through a crack in the curtains. Hannibal easily navigated to the bed and pulled back the covers, holding a hand out to Will and settling them in together. 

He kissed Will’s neck, trailing his lips from the hollow of his throat up to the sensitive area behind his ear, nipping occasionally along the way.

Unable to resist the urge to mark Will in some physical way, he brought his lips to the join of Will’s neck and shoulder and _sucked_ , laving the area with his tongue and biting down lightly, scraping his teeth over the warm patch of skin. The hickey would be in a place easily concealed by Will’s shirt collars, a private reminder of this night. A secret.

Will gasped approvingly and buried his fingers in Hannibal’s hair, using the grip to pull them back into a deep kiss.

They stayed that way for a long time, lapping at each other’s lips and breathing into the warm space between their mouths, lazily stroking hands over hips and chests and faces.

When Will’s breathing began to slow, his eyelids drooping, Hannibal encouraged him to turn over, putting them back-to-chest. He placed his hand over Will’s stomach and felt as the other man released a long sigh, melting back into Hannibal’s solid bulk behind him. For the first time since he’d walked into Hannibal’s office early that evening, he was finally completely relaxed.

Hannibal did not drop into sleep, instead listening to Will’s low, deep breaths. He buried his nose in the dark curls at the base of the man’s neck, deeply breathing in Will’s scent. He was masculine and earthly, smelling strongly of sweat and rain, with hints of burning wood and forest. Any hair products or aftershaves he may have used this morning were long worn off; this was all Will.

He waited nearly an hour and half for Will to drop into his first REM phase. He slowly extricated himself from around the other man, taking great care to not jostle him. Once free, he took a moment to admire Will’s sleeping form, trailing his eyes from the dark shadow of his eyelashes, down to the barely visible thumping of his heart in his chest, committing it all to memory.

Hannibal quietly closed the bedroom door and made his way down the staircase, striding purposefully into the kitchen. He entered the large pantry and pulled the old rolodex from its place on the shelf. He didn’t have the usual business cards, so he pulled three blank index cards and a well-used fountain pen from a drawer.

In fine handwriting, he filled out the three cards-

_Ryan Gillette, Louisiana(?), Mid-40’s_  
 _Marcus Graham, Arizona, Mid-70’s_  
 _K.(?) Maguire, Louisiana, Late-30’s_

None of them would be easy. He had no location for the first, no certain name for the last, and due to the familial grapevine, the other would need to be staged to either look natural or accidental.

However, if Hannibal had any trait in spades, it was resourcefulness.

He smiled with teeth as he replaced the rolodex on the shelf, shut off the lights, and returned upstairs.  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to everyone who took the time to read this, and especially those who kudos'd, commented, bookmarked, etc! I was so not expecting the wonderfully positive response this received. It warmed the cockles of my heart. :)
> 
> If you'd like to drop me a line or look at the dumb things I reblog, my tumblr can be found here:  
> [zerosys.tumblr.com](http://zerosys.tumblr.com/)


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